That would look pretty black to a stranger, and it made even Mary Louise feel very uncomfortable and oppressed, but against the accusation the girl placed these facts, better known to her than the others:  Gran’pa Jim was a good man, kind and honest.  Since she had known him his life had been blameless.  Mamma Bee, who knew him best of all, never faltered in her devotion to him.  He was incapable of doing an evil deed, he abhorred falsehood, he insisted on defending the rights of his fellow men.  Therefore, in spite of any evidence against him Mary Louise believed in his innocence.

Having settled this belief firmly in mind and heart, the girl felt a distinct sense of relief.  She would doubt no more.  She would not try, in the future, to solve a mystery that was beyond her comprehension.  Her one duty was to maintain an unfaltering faith.

At seven o’clock she went to the breakfast room, to which but two or three other guests of the hotel had preceded her, and in a few minutes Detective O’Gorman entered and seated himself at a table near her.  He bowed very respectfully as he caught her eye and she returned the salutation, uneasy at the man’s presence but feeling no especial antagonism toward him.  As he had said, he was but doing his duty.

O’Gorman finished his breakfast before Mary Louise did, after which, rising from his chair, he came toward her table and asked quietly: 

“May I sit at your table a moment, Miss Burrows?”

She neither consented nor refused, being taken by surprise, but O’Gorman sat down without requiring an answer.

“I wish to tell you,” he began, “that my unpleasant espionage of you is ended.  It will be needless for me to embarrass or annoy you longer.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes.  Aren’t you glad?” with a smile at her astonished expression.  “You see, I’ve been busy investigating while you slept.  I’ve visited the local police station and—­various other places.  I am satisfied that Mr. Hathaway—­or Mr. Weatherby, as he calls himself—­is not in Dorfield and has never located here.  Once again the man has baffled the entire force of our department.  I am now confident that your coming to this town was not to meet your grandfather but to seek refuge with other friends, and so I have been causing you all this bother and vexation for nothing.”

She looked at him in amazement.

“I’m going to ask you to forgive me,” he went on, “and unless I misjudge your nature you’re not going to bear any grudge against me.  They sent me to Beverly to watch you, and for a time that was a lazy man’s job.  When you sold some of your jewelry for a hundred dollars, however, I knew there would be something doing.  You were not very happy at your school, I knew, and my first thought was that you merely intended to run away—­ anywhere to escape the persecution of those heartless girls.  But you bought a ticket for Dorfield, a faraway town, so I at once decided—­ wrongly, I admit—­that you knew where Hathaway was and intended going to him.  So I came with you, to find he is not here.  He has never been here.  Hathaway is too distinguished a personage, in appearance, to escape the eye of the local police.  So I am about to set you free, my girl, and to return immediately to my headquarters in Washington.”